Rath’s eyes lazily go to the door, then he straightens. “Fuck me,” he mutters.
Even Killian is stunned, face going slack as he takes her in. It’s not often we get to see our Lady dressed like this, which is probably a good thing. We’d get absolutely nothing accomplished.
“What?” she says, looking down at her gown. It’s made out of a clingy green satin that sticks to her bodice like a second skin. It accentuates every slender curve of her womanly figure, and it doesn’t matter that the neck isn’t low enough to show her cleavage. Killer and I both know what’s under there. Panic ignites in her eyes. “Is this wrong? I went to the boutique you suggested. The woman that helped me said it would be appropriate for a fancy party. Is it too much? Too little?” When we continue staring, her shoulders fall. “Give me something here, guys.”
“Oh, I can think of a couple things we want to give you.” I cross the room, pretending I’m not calculating how to get this dress off of her. Will the tight skirt push over her hips? Is there a zipper? God, please tell me she’s not wearing a bra. “We’re just speechless on account of the awe.”
Killian clears his throat behind me. “Yeah, little sister. You clean up… sufficiently.”
She shoots him a glare, because Killian always lives in that vague spot in and around ‘asshole’， but I know he means it.
She’s stunning.
Before I approach her, I veer off toward the armchair in the corner, reaching behind it to retrieve the very thing I’d gone out earlier to buy. Paper crinkling in my hand, I extend the bouquet to her. “For my escort.” I shoot Killian a sly smirk over my shoulder.
She blinks at the flowers, her impeccable red lips spreading into a shocked grin. “Oh my god, these are gorgeous, Tristian!” She’s visibly flustered as she gathers the bouquet into her arms, cheeks flushing. There are fifty of them, which took some time to find, given the season. After fingering a couple of the petals, she finally meets my gaze, eyes curious. “Why do you always get me daisies?” After a beat, she rushes to add, “Not that I don’t love daisies.”
“Don’t you remember?” I point to the doorway. “The first day you came here, you were wearing a little sundress, and it—”
“—had daisies on it,” she finishes, head snapping back in shock. “You remembered that?”
Oh, I remember everything. I remember her letting the straps fall down her shoulders, putting her full tits on display for us. I remember thinking how badly I wanted to bend her over and stuff her full of my cock. I remember noting the way she looked among the backdrop of the dark brownstone, soft and sweet, like a warm ray of sunshine.
Like the daisies on her dress.
“How could I forget?” I say, reaching out to run my knuckle along her jaw.
“Shoot me,” Killian mutters.
“Don’t mind him.” I slip into my jacket, giving her a roguish grin. “Some men know how to treat a Lady.” But before I can tuck her hand in my arm, she jumps back.
“I need to put these in a vase! I’ll just be one second.” And with that, the click-clack of heels races into the kitchen. I wait obediently, hands clasped behind my back, until she comes clicking back, a vase clutched to her chest. Killian and I watch mutely as she fusses with it, arranging the flowers just-so.
She sets it on the mantle, up among the mounted buck and skulls, and sends us a sunny smile. “Brightens the place up, don’t you think?”
Nodding, I pretend I wasn’t just staring at her ass. “Absolutely.”
Dimitri stands to approach her then, trying to steal her attention away from the flowers. “Baby, look at me.” She does, turning to him with a quizzical expression. He answers by touching her chin, boring into her with his eyes. “Rich people—people who are Mercer-rich—they’re dicks.”
“Hey!” I glower at him, but it’s half-hearted. “I resemble that remark.”
Dimitri ignores me. “They’re stuck-up snobs, and if someone treats you like shit, you’re completely free to tell them what they can do with their opinion. Understood?”
Story gives him a slow nod. “I understand.”
“Good.” With that, he leans down to press a kiss to her lips, and I roll my eyes as it goes on. And on. And on.
I check my watch. “Lift your leg and piss on her already. The car’s waiting out front.”
He finally lets her go, leaving her glassy-eyed and dazed, eyelashes flicking as she blinks it away. “Good luck,” he says, turning her toward me.